


Fish? Sure.

by flirtygaybrit



Category: Aquaman (2018), DC Extended Universe
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Blow Jobs, M/M, Secret Relationship, this is precisely what you think it is :/
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-05-30 20:38:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19410964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtygaybrit/pseuds/flirtygaybrit
Summary: Orm is a model prisoner, and his good behaviour grants him the ability to temporarily leave his cell and wander freely within Atlantis's borders. Arthur, discovering a predictable pattern in his brother's travel route outside the city, decides to investigate just what Orm gets up to in his free time.





	Fish? Sure.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts), [liodain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liodain/gifts).



> For liodain and also thedevilchicken, who were bold enough to put a request out into the world that I just couldn't fucking stop thinking about. I enjoyed it more than I care to admit, so I hope this is sufficiently terrible (and I hope you don't mind that it's more than just a kiss).

There were few moments in Arthur’s life that he truly regretted, but he would never regret anything so much as his choice to believe that his brother was, among other qualities and adverbs, entirely incapable of doing things that weren’t suspicious, nefarious, diabolical, manipulative, and other terms for undesirable things.

Not that Orm didn’t have good qualities. He was respectful, of course, and patient, and introspective, and a number of other things that, in Atlantean culture, were enough to qualify him as a model prisoner. He was a great prisoner, and by the book he was a better prisoner than he was a king. He put up no fight when the guards came to seize him for trial, he bowed his head and accepted his sentence with dignity before a council, and he even donned his nondescript prisoner’s garb with little more than a wrinkle of his nose. 

For all of this and more, Orm was given certain privileges. Now, Arthur might have played favourites with him even if he’d been an insufferable shitstain for a while after his sentencing, but Orm was a well-loved ruler for a reason. Even some of his guards still wished to see him on the throne, but out of respect for ancient customs and weird prophecies that Arthur thought probably should have held less weight compared to things like actual, _literal_ law, they kept him jailed for months, and as time passed, he earned his aforementioned privileges with honesty and integrity.

And the one he took advantage of the most—the one that Arthur was so rightfully and regrettably suspicious of—was the tidal pass.

For a period of a few hours per day, Orm was allowed to leave the confines of his cell and travel freely within the borders of Atlantis. Not just within the city, either. Atlantis extended far beyond the massive walls and natural structures encircling the urban area of the kingdom, stretching for miles and miles in all directions, a space so vast that it seemed impossible that one man could be found in such a great amount of ocean, and yet Orm was always easily found. Prisoners who earned this privilege were fitted with specialty trackers, ones that would resist whatever magical or technological attempts were made to break it, and his precise location was available for Arthur to view at all times.

This was how Arthur knew that Orm, for the entire duration of these visits, followed the same route and the same schedule every single time. He would swim southeastward for nearly two hours, as far as the boundaries of Atlantis allowed, to a single destination along the furthest border of the kingdom. He would deviate only slightly along the way, weaving back and forth through the Atlantic Ocean, until he could go no further. He spend maybe thirty minutes there at most, which was the most baffling thing to Arthur, and then he would make his way straight back to Atlantis, his mood pleasant and his mind clear, and return to his cell without protest.

Nobody who kept a schedule that predictable could be up to any good. Arthur had a gut feeling there was more to Orm’s regular trips than he was letting on.

*

Arthur kept a careful distance. Any other Atlantean would have lost Orm quickly in the ocean, as it would have been impossible to follow his winding trail through the sea without maintaining a visual at all times. Luckily, he didn’t need to keep a direct eye on Orm, as there were plenty of witnesses to point him in the right direction along the way. It would give him the advantage of a stealthy approach, which was precisely what he assumed Orm was trying to avoid by making his path so convoluted.

Nearly forty-five minutes in, Orm stopped partway through the Atlantic Ocean. He had led them to a rocky area of the sea floor, a jagged field where only the occasional soft-bodied creature floated aimlessly by, and Arthur hid carefully behind a rocky outcrop some distance away as Orm moved back and forth, as if waiting for something. 

Or searching.

It took less than a minute for Orm to find what he was after; he reached into a space between the rocks that Arthur couldn’t quite see and withdrew a large, opaque sack that was approximately half his size, and Arthur found himself ducking out of the way as Orm cast a sweeping glance around the field before resuming his journey. 

According to Arthur’s careful study of Orm’s tracking device, this was all part of the plan. The only unknown was the bag. Was he smuggling something? Was this a drop point? Arthur planned to find out.

The second leg of the journey brought them into the South Atlantic. Arthur knew this only from the tracking map, but he did not recognize anything about the route or the specific location that Orm visited each time he was granted temporary freedom. The ocean was a large place, and nobody had the time to follow up on Orm’s activities. Of course, it could have been a particularly clever ruse. This might have been a rehearsed route that was designed to be tracked, and Arthur might have been marching toward certain doom—but as clever as Orm was, and as brilliant a plan as it would have been to ambush Arthur in the furthest reaches of Atlantis’s waters, Arthur had faith in his brother.

And he was curious. He was _so_ curious.

When nearly two hours had passed, Arthur began to slow his pace. He entered what he liked to call ‘stealth mode’ and made a greater effort to conceal himself in the dark. This far down, it was quite difficult to see much of anything, even with his Atlantean vision, and Arthur found himself communicating with even the tiniest of organisms to ensure that he was on the right track. A charismatic tripod fish pointed him toward the south, and an amphipod recalled sensing a shape making its way toward a nearby fissure.

Arthur did not like the word _fissure_ , and that is precisely how he knew he would find his brother there.

He dropped low to the seafloor and made his way slowly toward the fissure in question, a yawning chasm that must have spanned a mile at its widest, and was surprised to find that a single area several hundred feet down was inhabited by half a dozen gently-glowing jellyfish. He quickly realized that he could see Orm, illuminated from above and below by the jellyfish, but another figure down in the darkness sent a spike of alarm through him: a trench creature, quickly approaching Orm out of the depths of the fissure. It stopped just short of him and Arthur watched intently as the thing screeched at Orm, but came no closer. 

“Here you are,” Orm said, and he thrust the sack at the monster with no preamble. It hit the trench creature in the chest, and to Arthur’s surprise the creature caught it, paused as though to examine it, and then pushed itself away from Orm, drifting a few feet beyond the brightest light emanating from the jellyfish before it tore open the bag.

The water began to cloud instantly, and Arthur quickly realized that whatever was within the sack was bleeding. Profusely. The blood that deeper into the water would have been beyond reason enough for Arthur to intervene if Orm had looked even the slightest bit alarmed by it, but he seemed perfectly calm, and that was just unusual enough to keep Arthur perched on the ledge of the fissure. Below, Orm began to glance at his surroundings, and Arthur ducked once more out of sight as Orm turned his gaze upward and said: “Did you bring yours?”

Had the trenchman then tossed a bag of unknown bloody items at Orm, Arthur would have descended and placed them both under arrest without hesitation. He didn’t know if he could do that, legally speaking, nor did he know if they were even alone in this chasm. For all he knew, the depths might have been swarming with trenchmen prepared to tear Orm apart… but while Arthur was not entirely clear on the nature of this exchange, he was and it was only when he looked over the edge of the cliff and saw a black shadow slithering in Orm’s direction that he decided he would wait to intervene.

It was a fish. Or at least, it resembled one. It appeared to be nearly as long as the trench creature itself and was as thick as one of Arthur’s thighs, though it lacked most of the characteristics of fish that Arthur was used to seeing, like fins and… fins. Sinuous and predatory, it darted from the blackness in Orm’s direction, and Orm reached for something near his belt that Arthur couldn’t quite see—a knife? a hidden weapon?—but the fish was coming in too quickly. 

Just as Arthur raised himself up to call out to it and the trench creature, it lifted its head to reveal a gaping, tube-shaped maw lined with rows of razor-sharp teeth that glinted in the light and—

—slammed face-first into Orm’s pelvis.

Arthur did not know what to do. There were two distinct and horrifying things occurring simultaneously: the trenchman was obviously devouring whatever had been in the bag that Orm delivered, and this big eel-looking motherfucker was attempting to devour his brother. The impact had sent Orm reeling backward in the water, which was now beginning to turn pink in the light from the jellyfish, but he’d managed to right himself and was gripping the fish on the head? the body? with both hands… and oddly enough, he didn’t seem to be trying to fight it.

 _Hey!_ Arthur called down telepathically, addressing the abyssal creature that was attempting to saw Orm in half with its mouth. _What do you think you’re doing?_

The fish stopped whipping its tail for a moment, then replied: _I cannot see you but I know you watch. Do you wish to partake?_

 _No!_ Arthur yelled back soundlessly, then gripped the edge of the cliff and frowned down at the creature. _Wait, partake in what?_

 _The pleasure_ , the fish said, and it wriggled again, shoving Orm back a few feet in the water as it fastened its mouth securely to him; now Arthur could see that its mouth had been fastened over Orm’s groin, which seemed like a strange place for a fish mouth to be if it was trying to eat—oh, no.

No. It wasn’t trying to eat Orm. And Orm wasn’t trying to pull it away.

Oh _no._

From this distance, it was hard to tell precisely what the thing—the eel, fish, ancient goddamn vacuum with teeth—was doing, but whatever was occurring in that fissure seemed to satisfy Orm. He ran a hand along its smooth side and tipped his head back, and Arthur could see that his eyes were closed; he was no longer attempting to keep himself upright, and his usual tense, confrontational stance had relaxed. The fish undulated gently beneath his palm, and Arthur could see Orm’s mouth moving faintly, but all he could hear was the faint sound of the trenchman devouring its meal.

And then Orm moaned.

This was great. His brother wasn’t smuggling drugs or plotting to overthrow the throne with an army of creatures. He was giving meat to the trench and getting his dick sucked by a six-foot lamprey.

And it wasn’t even fucking illegal.

Arthur closed his eyes for a very long time.

 _Is anyone else seeing this?_ he cast out, directing his words away from the trenchman and the fish. _Am I the only one who’s getting this right now?_

A few moments passed by, and a voice from somewhere within the fissure—a nearby jellyfish, most likely—replied: _Looks like the usual to me!_

Arthur sighed as the first audible moan rose out of the fissure. At least he wasn’t alone in his suffering.

*

He peeked every so often. The greatest change in the scene was often in their orientation; occasionally, Orm’s back blocked the majority of the fish and its nasty mouth activities, though Arthur could see that its body and tail had twisted up between Orm’s legs and along his back to provide something solid to rest against. Or maybe to hold him closer, it was hard to tell. When Arthur looked next, Orm had a tight grip about a foot from the creature’s mouth and was thrusting into it, grunting loudly enough that Arthur was sure it would attract passersby; at times he grew passive, and the fish twisted somewhat, writhing in the water in a way that made Orm’s hold go slack.

Arthur did not want to imagine what that monster's mouth must have felt like on him. Whatever suction it might have been able to provide due to being a long and powerful tube of pure muscle (which would have been attractive under different circumstances, probably) paled in comparison to the thought of those teeth, which Arthur would not want to put his dick around under any circumstances. He was pretty sure he’d seen the bites from these guys, and they were not pretty. These fish were parasitic hunters capable of sucking the life out of far larger creatures, and not in a kinky way.

Orm was growing louder, more careless with his noise. When Arthur mustered up the courage to look again, he saw through the pink haze of blood that had drifted from the trench creature’s vicinity that Orm had locked his thighs around the fish’s powerful body, and the great fish was slowly moving against him in a way that forced Orm’s hips to rock forward. He was petting at it feverishly, moving his hands like he didn’t know where to rest them, sliding them along the fish’s head and torso like he was trying to milk it.

He was getting close, probably fast approaching orgasm with that thing swallowing his dick, and that was a thought that Arthur had never wanted to have prior to now and would likely never want to have ever again.

“Yes,” Orm was panting, now bucking against the fish’s grasp. The sound rose out of the fissure and echoed in the water. Orm was sonorous at the quietest of times. He was a showman, it came naturally to him, and yet Arthur was certain this was not simply for show. This looked like the best blowjob in the entire world, and Orm looked ecstatic. “Yes, yes…”

Arthur swallowed and rolled onto his back. He could still hear the trench creature chewing, and he tried to focus on the unpleasant squelching noises of that instead, but all it did was make him think of the trench creature with its own set of knife-like teeth going down on his brother, and he really did not like that image much, either.

(At least the trench creature had hands and fingers and everything one needed in a partner. It could touch Orm with its hands. It could hold him in place and swallow his cock, or it could bend him over, screeching that terrible noise, and—)

Orm gasped, a desperate noise, his voice shaking. A quick glance told Arthur that he was very close now, right on the edge. Arthur did not dare try to ask the fish what it was feeling.

He gazed down into the fissure as Orm suddenly cried out and bucked against the fish. It moved with him, but he was jerky, uneven, grasping at the smooth surface of its body and failing to find purchase. It was so thick that both of his hands didn’t fit around its torso, and Arthur watched as he slowly began to relax, still panting, loosening his hold on the great creature’s body as the fish disengaged at last and backed away from Orm to reveal precisely what Arthur had never hoped to see: Orm’s dick was still half-hard, pretty human-looking, but decorated with spiraling red lines that Arthur quickly realized must have been made by the creature’s teeth. A mixture of pink and white oozed from its mouth as it turned its head around, and Arthur heard it call, _Is the hidden watcher next?_

Arthur slowly crawled back from the ledge and sat in the darkness and very carefully did not say a single goddamn word.

There was another noise, one that Arthur could hear clearly in the water over the sound of his brother panting. It was the trench creature, apparently finished with its snack, and Arthur leaned out over the cliff again to see it make a few horrendous, ear-grating noises at Orm before turning and diving back into the depths of the fissure.

The fish slithered away with it, trailing faint wisps of blood and semen into the dark, and Orm slowly began to fasten his belt.

 _Slow build-up today,_ said a jellyfish from within the fissure.

 _Yup,_ another replied, with all the ennui expected of a jellyfish that had apparently been providing the mood lighting for Orm’s romantic trysts with a trench pet for months on end.

Arthur sighed and rolled onto his back, gazing up into the darkness of the ocean. He was never going to get the image of Orm tangled up in the massive lamprey out of his head. He was never going to look at Orm in his nondescript, fish-fucking prison suit the same way ever again. He was never going to question the convoluted route that Orm took to the very edges of Atlantis’s border, as close to the kingdom of the trench as a prisoner was legally allowed to go. He was never even going to ask any of his legal advisors whether it was technically legal to fuck a fish.

He lay on the seabed for a long while as, further down the fissure, Orm rocketed up into the sea and began his return home. Arthur did not give chase. For the first time, he found that he had some faith in Orm. He had earned the benefit of the doubt. This was not, as far as Arthur could tell, nefarious, or diabolical, or even particularly manipulative. It was definitely suspicious and it was undeniably undesirable, but it was also… well. Pretty straightforward.

He could follow his brother home. He could ensure that Orm went straight back to Atlantis and swam back into his cell with that insufferable look of post-orgasmic satisfaction on his face. He could look Orm in the eyes and smile at him, just a little, and leave Orm guessing just what could be so amusing.

But if Orm wasn’t going back to Atlantis? If he had somewhere more important to be today, another payment to retrieve and another member of a faraway kingdom to pay off in exchange for services provided by something slithering and smooth? Arthur would gladly skip out on it this time. If Orm could lead Arthur to a dubiously romantic tryst in this neck of the woods, he would likely be willing to lead Arthur into situations far more precarious.

After all, there were plenty of fissures in the sea.


End file.
